O, Sir Charles Grandison! said my lady; both her hands lifted up.

Let us be contented, proceeded I, with such their kind acknowledgments, and in pity to them, and in compliment to ourselves, bear with their foibles.—­See, madam, I ever was an advocate for the ladies.

Sir Charles, I have no patience with you—­

What can a poor woman do, continued I, when opposed?  She can only be a little violent in words, and, when she has said as much as she chooses to say, be perhaps a little sullen.  For my part, were I so happy as to call a woman mine, and she happened to be in the wrong, I would endeavour to be in the right, and trust to her good sense to recover her temper:  arguments only beget arguments.—­Those reconciliations are the most durable, in which the lady makes the advances.

What doctrine is this, Sir Charles!  You are not the man I took you for.  —­I believe, in my conscience, that you are not near so good a man, as the world reports you.

What, madam, because I pretend to know a little of the sex?  Surely, Lady Beauchamp, a man of common penetration may see to the bottom of a woman’s heart.  A cunning woman cannot hide it.  A good woman will not.  You are not, madam, such mysteries, as some of us think you.  Whenever you know your own minds, we need not be long doubtful:  that is all the difficulty:  and I will vindicate you, as to that—­

As how, pray, sir?

Women, madam, were designed to be dependent, as well as gentle, creatures; and, of consequence when left to their own wills, they know not what to resolve upon.

I was hoping, Sir Charles, just now, that you would stay to dinner:  but if you talk at this rate, I believe I shall be ready to wish you out of the house.

Sir Harry looked as if he were half-willing to be diverted at what passed between his lady and me.  It was better for me to say what he could not but subscribe to by his feeling, than for him to say it.  Though reproof seldom amends a determined spirit, such a one as this lady’s; yet a man who suffers by it cannot but have some joy when he hears his sentiments spoken by a bystander.  This freedom of mine seemed to save the married pair a good deal of recrimination.

You remind me, madam, that I must be gone, rising and looking at my watch.

You must not leave us, Sir Charles, said Sir Harry.

I beg excuse, Sir Harry—­Yours, also, madam, smiling—­Lady Beauchamp must not twice wish me out of the house.

I will not excuse you, sir, replied she—­If you have a desire to see the matter completed—­She stopt—­You must stay to dinner, be that as it will.

‘Be that as it will,’ madam!—­You shall not recede.

Recede!  I have not yet complied—­

O these women!  They are so used to courtship, that they know not how to do right things without it—­And, pardon me, madam, not always with it.

Bold man—­Have I consented—­